And Ring Makes Three
by Eleanor Damaschke
Summary: AU. BagginShield. Billa Baggins, Queen Under the Mountain, discovers her loyalties are divided. Her husband, she loves with all her heart. The Ring consumes her mind. What is a hobbit-lass to do, when she finds that her family takes second place to her Precious?
1. Chapter 1

Firelight glinted off the smooth gold surface as she turned it over and over in her fingers. Tired as she was, the sight had her half mesmerized, and she let her eyes fall nearly shut as she watched the clean, warm light flash in golden arcs between her calloused digits. Around and around and around. Focused as she was on the patterns of light, she didn't notice that Thorin was watching her from the other side of the fire pit.

The dark-haired dwarf inspected his wife's face, feeling a prickle of fear. It wasn't the first time he'd caught her looking at that ring. She seemed so far away and so... foreign. Not at all like herself. There was a covetous, greedy light in her eyes, far too much like the light that had filled his grandfather's face when he looked on his mountains of gold. An unhappy wail came from the next room and Billa's curly head twitched slightly. It seemed like a great effort to tear her eyes away from the gold ring in her hand, and as she stood to tend to her infant son, she pocketed it.

"Mummy!" Two-year-old Brün ran into her legs and clung to her skirt, peering up the length of her body into her face. "Mummy, Fior is hung'y agin!" Billa stooped to pick up her firstborn and carried him out of the room on her hip. Thorin remained troubled, staring into the fire. There were other things he'd seen. Not just when she was looking at the ring (which seemed to happen more and more often recently). A sharp word, an impatient glance, an insult that perhaps struck deeper than she meant it to, and no apology to follow it. Thorin lowered himself to his haunches and crouched, gazing into the glowing embers as though they held the answer.

"Thorin!" Her voice came through the doorway, as clear and cheerful as ever. "Could you come hold Brün? He's being a little pest again." The little boy shrieked with laughter and Thorin stood, shaking off his dark thoughts. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was just that time of month, and he had lost track of the days. With a sigh, the Mountain King tried to forget his worries as he went to play with his son.

"Could she be having another bairn?" Balin suggested cautiously, studying his king's face from across the table. The dining hall echoed with the sounds of dwarves eating and talking, so there was little chance they would be overheard. Still, Thorin had been nervous recently, and there was something to be said for making him feel more at ease. The dark-haired dwarf gave his friend a strange look, his dark brow furrowed under the heavy gold circlet he wore to keep his braids out of his face.

"Why? She has two sons. There's no reason to have any more. No, I don't think that's it. She's… different, Balin." Thorin glanced around for the fifth time since they'd sat down, gripping his mug tightly. "I don't know how to explain it, but it has something to do with that blasted ring. I don't like it."

"The ring?" Balin was baffled. "How could a ring make her different? Thorin, are you sure you've been getting enough sleep?" The older dwarf frowned at his king. He'd already put off his expedition to Moria by two months, so he could see the newborn prince, but he didn't intend to be delayed so long that winter set in before he could step out the door.

Thorin growled something incoherent and took a long swig of his ale. Balin didn't understand. Balin didn't see the halfling awake in the middle of the night, fingering that stupid ring like it was something… like it was… Thorin suffered a sudden deluge of half-remembered mental images. His grandfather, sitting by the fire, rubbing the Arkenstone covetously between his hands. His grandfather, holding the Arkenstone as though it were a precious infant, watching his son and daughter-in-law as though he were afraid they would steal it from him at any moment. His grandfather, sprinting back to the throne room as the dragon descended on the mountain, so intent on rescuing his precious Arkenstone that he didn't seem to notice the dwarves screaming in pain and terror all around him.

Fear rushed through him like ice water. Thorin didn't have any trouble at all remembering the words of Balin, that dreadful night when Smaug had nearly ended all of them.

_There is a sickness on that treasure. A sickness that drove your grandfather mad._

This ring, he remembered, was the one that Billa had told him made her invisible when she put it on. He'd seen it work before and didn't doubt its power, but he'd never held it. Never wanted to. Would it infect his mind too? The Arkenstone was buried deep under the mountain, laid to rest on the bones of Smaug, where the dragon would lay forever encased in rock and stone, guarding the treasure that had cost Thorin so much to give up. Yet when he had released it, he had been freed from the weight of his grandfather's greed.

Balin was still watching him. There was worry in the old dwarf's eyes now, and Thorin thought there was good reason to be worried. The king finished his ale and stood up. He needed to find Billa. The halls seemed resoundingly silent after the cheerful roar that had filled the dining hall. The steps of the dwarf following him were like thunder in his ringing ears. Thorin didn't care. He needed to find his wife. Worry clawed at his heart. He couldn't watch her descend into the greedy madness that had consumed his grandfather and left their people so vulnerable. What if it were him that it left ravaged? What about their sons?


	2. Chapter 2

Her face seemed peaceful in sleep. This was the hobbit he remembered from that evening in a home underground, a pleasantly-furnished hole with nice wooden floors and excellent food. Thorin hesitated as he stood over her, noting how she curled herself into a ball under the thick blanket. The blanket was crumpled around her waist, as though she'd been sitting up at some point and laid down without bothering to pull it up. Her hands were curled against her chest and she seemed to be holding something. Thorin swallowed hard and reached down without giving himself time to cultivate the doubt rooting in his stomach.

A gentle tug was enough to loosen her fingers, and there it was. That cursed ring, simple and gold, nestled in her palm. The sight of it almost made him angry. He didn't like how she was changing, and he was positive that this thing was the reason behind it all. With cautious fingers, he lifted it from Billa's hand. It felt cool and smooth under his fingers. He would hide it away from her. Drop it in one of the furnaces, maybe. Billa didn't need it anymore.

She stirred slightly, but didn't wake. Thorin almost felt guilty, doing this to her. She might be angry, he supposed, when she found out. But away from the ring, he was sure she would get better. His hand closed around the little gold thing. It felt heavy in his hand, and he wondered if she had really kept it on her person all this time. It had been _years_. Yet he could see her in his mind's eye, fingering something in her pocket when she got nervous or upset. His fist clenched and the shape of the ring dug into his palm, leaving its cool imprint there. Billa's eyes flickered open.

"Thorin…?" The halfling started to sit up, but almost immediately, she seemed to realize that something was amiss. She glanced around, her hand closing reflexively. "Where is it?" Billa patted the blankets, a slightly frantic edge to her voice. After several hectic moments, she nearly fell off the couch and into Thorin's arms, where she realized that he was holding something. Thorin was relieved when he saw her eyes widen and her mouth open in an expression of slightly hurt surprise. But the dwarf had only just tipped her back onto the couch when the expression changed, transforming her pretty face into one he didn't recognize. Billa's lips parted in a snarl and she bared her teeth, eyes gleaming with fury.

"That's mine! Give it back!" She lunged for the hand that held the ring. Thorin stepped back quickly and winced when she hit the floor.

"No, Billa, listen to me."

"I don't have to listen to anything!" she snapped, scrambling up to make another grab for the ring. "You have no right to steal my ring. Give it back!" From the basket in the corner, little Fior started to wail. Billa didn't seem to hear him.

"Billa, would you stop and look at yourself? This isn't-" Thorin grunted when she hit him, jamming her shoulder into his ribs.

"Give it back, NOW!" Billa seemed to have gone insane, clawing at his fist, drawing thin lines of blood along his knuckles. Thorin lifted his hand, holding the ring out of her reach. The thin wail of their infant son rose in volume and pitch as Fior became more upset at the sounds of fighting. Brün peeked around the corner, his eyes huge with fear. Billa was blind and deaf to all but her ring. She threw her shoulder against Thorin's stomach and he doubled over. She sprang on his arm and sank her teeth into the hairy flesh, biting down until he released the ring. As it chimed, bouncing across the floor, she released him, practically threw him aside and pounced on it.

Thorin sat on the warm stone, his back to the fire as he stared in stunned disbelief at his disheveled, panting wife. She had blood on her hands, _his_ blood, and she was completely ignoring her children, cupping the ring in her hands and kneeling on the floor, examining it for any damage. After a moment, she turned on him, anger stamped across her face.

"How _dare_ you?" she exploded, stomping over to him. Thorin flinched away, not entirely sure why he was frightened of a hobbit, and yet there was cold fear in his chest. "I can't _believe_ you would do that! Thorin, I thought you were better than that. Stealing other people's things- really! One would think you were still some filthy homeless vagabond, the way you're acting!"

"Billa…" Thorin could hear his heart pounding in his chest. This was not his wife. This was not the gentle, beautiful halfling he'd fallen in love with. She came closer, but Thorin scooted away holding out his injured hand as if to fend her off. As he pushed himself to his feet, her expression changed, from angry to irritated, then progressed quickly through confused, to worried and then frightened.

"Thorin, you're bleeding-"

"Stay away!" Thorin stumbled away from her, toward the door. Fior was still crying, and now Brün was screaming as he ran away, his high-pitched voice cutting out at odd moments as he hiccupped. Billa lifted a hand to her face, looking hurt, then seemed to notice then that there was blood on her own hands. Her brown eyes widened and she shuddered, thrusting her hands away from herself in horror, as though she could somehow escape from them. Then she saw the gold ring, clenched in her bloodied fingers. Thorin didn't wait to see anything else. He didn't want to see what was coming next, didn't want to see her fall under that evil thing's spell again. He scrambled toward the door, but hesitated. Fior was terrified, trapped in his basket with no way to escape. Brün was more capable of getting away, but he feared the boy might get lost.

A moment of indecision sank its claws into his mind. Should he stay? Try to make her see reason? He glanced over his shoulder at her. The hobbit was sitting on the floor, not looking at him. No, she was staring at that infernal ring. He couldn't see her expression, but he didn't need to. Stepping out into the hall, he started to sprint, scooping up Brün in his uninjured arm as he went. He ignored the sound of Billa yelling his name, head down as he ran away, trying to flee from the fear and anger growing inside him. He couldn't deal with this now. Maybe later, when his heart stopped pounding and his arm stopped bleeding- maybe then he would be able to think this through.

She was not the Billa he'd fallen in love with. She was not the hobbit he'd married. That thought tore at him as he ran through the halls of his mountain home. Memories plagued him. Billa by the campfire, laughing with Bombur. Billa appearing outside his cell in the elvenking's dungeons with a ring of keys. Billa training with Dwalin, trying to prove that her little elven dagger was a "proper weapon." Billa in that magnificent green dress, her hair exquisitely braided, standing beside him for the coronation ceremony. Thorin's heart ached fiercely. Where had his burglar gone?


	3. Chapter 3

"_Billa_ did this?" Oin couldn't help lifting his scraggly grey eyebrows at his king. Thorin glowered at the rough tabletop. "You can't be serious."

"Does this look like a joke to you?" Thorin brandished his wounded arm and Oin put a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. He could see that many of the changes that had been made in the young Mountain King had suddenly come undone. The dwarf sitting at his table was just as dour and angry as the one who'd stepped into Bag End years ago.

"Alright, alright. I understand, Thorin, but… why? I've never known her to be violent." Even when the fighting was necessary, Billa had ever been reluctant to deal harm. An unprovoked attack from the gentle hobbit smacked of some great unrest, either in her, in Thorin, or both.

Thorin was silent for a long moment. He wasn't sure if he was ready to share his suspicions about the ring again. Balin had dismissed it as laughable. Maybe not out loud, but that had certainly been the impression. He watched Oin's short, thick fingers wield the damp rag as he expertly cleaned the ragged wound. At last, Thorin settled on a partial truth.

"I don't know."

The silence between them was heavy. The small chamber Oin had claimed as his workroom was fairly isolated, flanked by larger, empty rooms to hold the wounded if ever the need should arise. So far, the smaller central room was sufficient. Something clattered and tension crawled up Thorin's spine like a nasty, many-legged creature. Oin frowned past him.

"Brün, that's not a plaything. Put it back, please. The empty ones are on the left. Your other left, lad. There you go. Play with those." Oin smiled, and there was another clatter, louder and more hollow this time. Thorin tried to breathe.

"You really don't know, Thorin?" Oin fixed him with a concerned look, wrapping his forearm carefully in clean white bandages. "You have no guesses, no suspicions?" Thorin didn't answer for another long moment, listening instead to his son playing with empty salve containers. The heavy clay pots bumped and clattered against one another, and he couldn't help but think of Fior, and worry. Worry that he might not be safe with this new, violent Billa. He sighed, shaking his head.

"She's changing, Oin. She's changing, and I don't know how to stop it. It's not a good change."

"I can see that." The healer's gruff tone was softened with worry. A worry they shared. Thorin glanced at him.

"Don't tell a soul, do you hear me? No one needs to think their queen has gone mad." Though, to be honest, he was thinking something along those lines himself.

"Daddy?" Brün's voice came from very near his elbow, and Thorin twitched slightly. The tension was getting to him. Since when could a two-year-old sneak up on a trained warrior? "Daddy, why Mommy be a goblin?"

"A goblin?" Thorin stared down at his son, mystified by what could possibly have connected the concept of his Billa with goblins.

"Book-story say goblins bite n' sc'atch n' stuff. Mommy a goblin. Why?" His simplistic words and childish thinking made Thorin wish he could afford to show how scared he was.

"Mommy…" he hesitated, not sure how to communicate the complexity of the situation to his tiny son. "Mommy is sick, Brün. She'll get better."

"Mommy sick, be a goblin. Mommy get better… no goblin?"

Oin chuckled, and the boy turned large eyes on him. He nodded his grey head with a smile. "That's right. Your mum'll get better and then she'll be herself again." Thorin envied his friend, just for a moment. He seemed so at ease with the little boy. Thorin had never been terribly good with children. He remembered when Brün was born, and Billa had tried to convince him to hold the tiny infant. Thorin had refused, afraid that he would hurt the babe. That thought brought up memories of evenings with a very pregnant Billa, who was seemingly more content when she was with child than most females ever were. Thorin shook his head, trying to banish the images that swirled in his brain, that made his heart ache and his arm throb. As pleasant as it was to dwell on the past, he needed to focus on the task at hand. How to cure Billa of this ring's curse?

"Perhaps," suggested Oin as he studied his king's bandaged arm, "if things are that serious, you ought to speak with Gandalf. The Wizard has been seen in Mirkwood. It would be simple enough to send one of the birds with a message for him."

Thorin wasn't sure whether to be frustrated that he hadn't been the one to think of that, or to be relieved because it was a way to let someone else deal with this problem. Maybe not 'deal with it,' so much as to assist in the solving of it. Thorin nodded slightly, keeping his expression as smooth as he could.

"I'll see to it. Thank you for your help, Oin."

The healer nodded and started to put his things away. Thorin picked up Brün and carried him out into the hall. He was calmer now, but still felt he wasn't ready to face Billa yet. Turning away from the corridor that would have led him back toward their chambers, he made his way toward the guard tower. He needed to check the defenses anyway. Just because Smaug was dead didn't mean there was no threat to Erebor.

_If only all threats were as obvious as a dragon._


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you mean, Billa?" Bombur frowned at her over the counter, his hand poised halfway between the plate and his mouth, still holding the meaty morsel. He had, if anything, gotten fatter when he was appointed official head cook in Erebor, but no one was surprised. Bombur seemed happy with it, and though some dwarves poked fun at him, he just laughed it off.

"I mean… it was like I wasn't thinking for myself. And right afterward, it was like someone else had done it. I just didn't think… didn't remember… that it was me." Billa's face was clouded with concern as she bounced Fior gently on her hip. The infant had calmed now, but it was quite a job getting him to quiet down after all the fuss he'd put up. After all the fuss _she'd_ put up. The halfling carried the guilt in her chest like a stone. The ring was in her pocket, as usual, but right now she was loath to touch it.

"But it _was_ you- you did it?" Bombur looked equal parts fascinated and unsettled. Billa sighed and nodded heavily. "That doesn't sound like you at all. I know you and Thorin have gotten into some nasty fights, but it's never come to blows 'tween you."

"I know." Billa frowned pensively and sat down on a tall stool near the counter. Bombur shook his head slightly and took a bite of his newest creation, chewing carefully as his jowls wobbled.

"Hm. Could use more salt." He pushed the plate to the side and moved around the end of the counter to sit beside her, lowering his bulk onto a short metal stool with a sigh. "Billa, if it were me, I would go talk to Thorin. I know it was terrible, what happened, but it's done now and you can't change that."

Billa watched him, remembering with a small amount of smug triumph that no one else, not even his own brothers, confided in him the way she did. In a way, she was glad that she didn't have to share him with anyone else. He was a useful confidante, and a veritable fount of old sayings and aphorisms. And good, solid advice. Right now, though, she wasn't so sure she appreciated how true his advice was. With a sigh, she looked down at her son. Half dwarf, half hobbit. He had his father's dark hair, but it was curly and unmanageable. As he got older, she hoped he would look more like Thorin, and less like her. The hobbitishness of her children was something she worried about. Honestly, she feared what would happen if the dwarves decided that they wanted a full-blooded dwarf on the throne, not one of her halfbreed offspring.

"Billa?" Bombur was looking at her curiously, and the halfling flushed.

"Sorry. You're right, Bombur. I just…"

"Your mind was half a mountain away," he told her quietly. "Like your heart is." She looked at him, wondering how it was that he could see her so clearly.

"You're right again. Thank you, Bombur." She kissed his cheek and turned, setting her shoulders. She needed to talk to Thorin, and preferably sooner than later.

There was a problem, though. He was busy. Every time she found him, he was talking to someone, or training, or locked in his study, or taking an account of their supplies for the winter, or writing an important missive to one of the surrounding kingdoms. She didn't like to admit it, but as she lay alone in bed that night, she knew that he was avoiding her. And she probably deserved it. And in that moment, she hated the ring. She hated it as she turned it over and over in her fingers.


	5. Chapter 5

"And what, precisely, would be so urgent," grumped the Wizard as he walked through the stone halls, "that you would summon me, Thorin? I hope you know that you interrupted some very important research into a foe I pray you never meet."

"Foes within our walls must be dealt with before the ones outside the gate can be counted among the immediate." The dark-haired dwarf sounded grim. Ushering Gandalf into his private audience chamber, he closed the door behind them and started to push up his sleeve, revealing the clean bandages beneath. Gandalf watched with detached interest as Thorin unwound the bandages to reveal the half-healed bite wound, clearly from something man-shaped and small. Bushy grey eyebrows rose slightly and the Wizard looked into the Mountain King's face, searching for an explanation.

"Billa. Miss Baggins._ My burglar_." Thorin couldn't completely eliminate the quaver from his voice. "She attacked me. Over a ring. A magic ring. I think it's changing her, and I don't know why or how."

Alarm flickered in Gandalf's piercing eyes, and his knuckles whitened around the sturdy wood of his staff. He studied the wound minutely, hardly seeming to breathe. At length, he spoke. "Billa Baggins did this to you?"

"Yes." Thorin lowered his arm, his voice heavy as he rewrapped the wound. "Some days hence, I tried to take the ring from her. I thought that I could throw it into the furnace and be done with it. But she… she turned savage, Gandalf." There was a sudden vulnerability around the dwarf that was nearly foreign. The depth of Billa's betrayal was thinly veiled in his words and manner as he appealed to his guide and friend for an answer, a cure for the hurt that festered inside him.

"I will speak with her." Gandalf hesitated for a moment, looking down at his companion. "Thorin? Have you talked to her since then?"

"No."

"Has she spoken to you?"

"At great length."

"What did she say?"

Silence. Thorin turned his face away. He didn't want to think about her tearful apologies. She had sounded like she really meant it, but how could he be sure that it wouldn't happen again? She still had the damnable ring, and when he demanded that she get rid of it, she told him that she couldn't. That she'd tried to get rid of it. It made him angry to think that Billa might be lying to him, but at the same time, he feared that she might be telling the truth, which was worse.

Gandalf could see he would be getting nowhere with the dwarf in that area, so he tried a different tack. "She will need your help, Thorin. Will you be willing to give her what she needs?" Thorin hesitated, but after a long moment, he nodded.

"Good. Now… where is she?"

* * *

The Wizard towered over her, many lifetimes of power and wisdom hanging in the air between them. It had been a very long time since she'd felt afraid of Gandalf, but that didn't stop her from feeling afraid now.

"Show me the ring."

Billa's hand went to her pocket, but she didn't pull it out. Fior was asleep. Brün was elsewhere, as he usually was these days. She suspected that Thorin was "protecting" him from her, a thought which hurt almost as much as his refusal to speak with her.

"What are you going to do with it?" she asked suspiciously, turning her body slightly as though to shield the ring from him. The Wizard frowned.

"I will not harm it," he said softly. "I merely want to see it."

Reluctantly, and the action seemed nearly painful for her, Billa produced the little gold thing and held it out for him to see, her hand shaking slightly. She stared at it, a hungry light in her brown eyes. Quick as a flash, Gandalf had it in his hand and before Billa could do more than let out a startled cry, he flung it into the fire.

"What are you doing?!" Billa's tone was slightly hysterical as she lurched toward the fireplace, restrained by Gandalf's hand on her shoulder. The ring lay nestled in the hot coals, the bright flames nearly obscuring it from sight. The image of the ring melting into little streams and puddles of gold drove her nearly wild, and she clawed at Gandalf's hand, trying to wrench away. His fingers, though old and bony, were surprisingly, even frighteningly strong. His grip was so tight that it hurt.

"I am testing it," he said quietly. "Magic rings are not forged in ordinary fires. I doubt this one will do any damage, whether laid by dwarves or not." Billa threw her weight against his hand, reaching desperately toward the fire. She had a mental image of herself plunging her hand into the coals to rescue it, and forced herself to stop. She stood, trembling under Gandalf's hand.

Would I really do that? Wouldn't that hurt? Of course it would. She wasn't stupid enough to think that there would be no consequences for that action. After what felt like an eternity, the Wizard took a set of tongs from the irons beside the hearth and reached into the coals, plucking the ring from the fire and shaking the ash from it with a quick twist. The gold sounded as though it bore a great weight as it came to rest on the stone, and Billa scrambled forward to pick it up. To her surprise, it was cool to the touch. More surprising, however, were the thin lines in the band's previously unblemished surface.

"You scratched it!" she snapped reproachfully. But on closer inspection, she realized the lines weren't scratches at all. They were tiny, fiery runes, burning into the polished surface as though there were a fire inside the ring itself.

"What do you see?" Gandalf's voice seemed distant. Despite the distance he sounded… almost afraid. Billa wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for the fear that warred with fascination in her own heart.

"Runes," she murmured. "I see runes in the gold. Some form of Elvish, I think. I can't read it." She looked at Gandalf, still holding the ring possessively. "What does it say?"

"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them," murmured the Wizard, his eyes dark with some distant, unpleasant portent. "One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them. It is written in the Black Speech of Mordor. There are few who can read it." He turned his gaze on her, and Billa received the distinct impression that she was holding something repulsive, like an orc's head, rather than a piece of magic jewelry.

"And… and what does that mean?" she asked hesitantly.

"It means, my brave little hobbit, that you will be going on another adventure."


	6. Chapter 6

Billa was rubbing the chain where it touched her collarbone. She seemed very aware of it. Not to say that he wasn't aware of it, but Thorin disliked the gesture just the same. Gandalf had provided the instructions to forge a strong chain for the Ring, and now the evil thing hung on a length of mithril links. Billa couldn't take it off the chain, even if she had wanted to. Neither could anyone else. Not without a great deal of effort and specific, well-guarded secrets. Gandalf was elsewhere, making plans for their "adventure." Thorin wasn't sure he liked the way the word had become an synonym for dangerous, uncomfortable, and undesired.

"I'm sorry, Thorin." Her voice startled him out of his reverie, and he turned blue eyes on the hobbit. She was looking at the floor. "I didn't know. If I had… I never would have picked it up. I wish I hadn't." Thorin very nearly agreed with her, but something occurred to him that stilled his tongue. Without the Ring, she never would have escaped the dragon. She wouldn't have retrieved the Arkenstone. She wouldn't have been able to rescue him and the others from the elvenking's dungeon. She never would have escaped the goblin tunnels. Without the Ring, Billa would have been dead or trapped many times over.

"But you didn't know," the dwarf said at last, unsettled by this train of thought. "And you did pick it up. What's done is done, and there's nothing we can do to change it." He caught Billa's gaze, and noted that she seemed surprise by his words. Her expression made him uncomfortable, and Thorin shifted. They were sitting together in the antechamber to their bedroom. Despite the crackling fire, the dark stone walls seemed to leech the heat out of the air, rather than keeping them safe.

Small, warm fingers laced through his. He looked down at the hand, smooth and delicate in comparison to his. Part of his heart started to soften as he looked at that little hand, and remembered all that it had done. Caring for his sons. Rubbing his shoulders. Braiding his hair. Tending his wounds. Caressing his cheek.

"We will do this… won't we? Together?" Billa's voice was uncertain, as though she feared the answer. Thorin lifted his gaze until he was looking into her face. And just then, he didn't see a stranger, half wild with fury and ready to attack him. He saw his burglar, and she was scared. Something shifted inside the dwarf king, and suddenly it was much harder to remain sitting so far apart from her, harder to not have her in his arms, where he could protect her. So he did the only reasonable thing a dwarf could do at a moment like that. He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close.

"Of course we will," he murmured into her hair. She'd bewitched him, he was sure of it. She'd infect his heart. He could feel her stiffen in surprise. No sooner had the surprise registered than it was gone, and she was melting into his arms, right where she belonged. For a moment, the world was at peace. There was nothing to disrupt the perfection of a dwarf and his wife in the dim safety of their room. One of his hands trailed up her back to the braid she wore at her left temple (just one, today). The moons in Erebor had seen her hair grow longer and, if anything curlier, and this braid, secured with a heavy silver bead, hung past her shoulders and toward her elbows. Gandalf found them thus, Billa nearly asleep in his arms, Thorin rubbing the precious braid between his fingers.

"It is settled," he said gravely. "Fili will take over as regent, and your sister Dís will be on her way within the week."

"The week?" Thorin frowned. If he knew his sister, then she would sooner shave her beard than delay more than a day or two before coming, if the situation were as urgent as Gandalf made it sound.

"Yes. You two, and a small selection of companions, will be leaving tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Billa seemed distressed by the thought, and Thorin pulled her tight against his chest, scowling up at the Wizard.

"Gandalf, we are not toys to be moved about at your will," he growled, feeling every inch the affronted king. "Explain why Erebor must do without its king and queen without warning." Or we won't be going. The unspoken threat hung in the air between them, and the Wizard sighed, seeming somehow pleased and disappointed at the same time.

"The Ring that Billa carries is the One Ring, forged by Sauron in the Second Age to rule the Rings of Power and bind their bearers to his will." Thorin's eyes widened in unadulterated shock, and he looked down at the unassuming hobbit in his arms, who simply seemed mystified. What a life she had led, to not know the tales of old! "Sauron was never killed or destroyed, as he put too much of his own power into the One Ring, and it remains." There was a significant pause and the Wizard looked at each of them in turn. "The Ring must be destroyed, or he will rise again, more dreadful and powerful than ever before. You have seen traces of his power already." Gandalf looked significantly at Thorin, and the dwarf swallowed against the taste of bile that rose in his throat.

"Azog," he murmured, and Gandalf nodded.

"The Pale Orc was a general among his kind. It is lucky for us, I think, that he is dead now. Otherwise your journey would be much more dangerous." The silence was heavy for a long moment as Thorin contemplated this new development. Billa shifted uncomfortably, and the dwarf noted with a stab of anger that she was holding the Ring.

"Destroy it?" she asked uncertainly.


	7. Chapter 7

Gandalf was hard-pressed to convince the Company that while Billa and Thorin needed to go on this journey, the rest of them couldn't. Fili and Kili looked morose and spent a good deal of the following morning pouting as they waited in the courtyard to say farewell to their king and queen. Bombur was hiding in his kitchen, "salting the sauces" (with tears, Billa suspected) and refusing to come out to say goodbye. Bifur and Bofur imparted small gifts to their monarchs and left quickly, looking disappointed and upset, as did Dori, Ori, and Oin. Nori and Gloin were near the door, looking fierce, and Dwalin had his arms crossed over his brawny chest, standing impassively near the ponies. There was a third pony bearing heavy-looking bags, and, as Dwalin shifted slightly, a fourth, slightly larger beast with weapons and- a saddle.

"You're going with them?!" Kili exploded from where he was standing against Billa's side. The hobbit winced away from him, but he didn't seem to notice. Balin put a hand on Kili's shoulder to calm him, but the younger dwarf was too busy pointing accusingly at the third saddle-pony to notice. "He's going! How come Dwalin can go and we can't?" Gandalf rumbled with laughter, tightening the girth-strap around his horse's barrel.

"Can you stop him, Kili?" The Wizard bent down to look the prince in the eye, and Kili did his very best imitation of his uncle on a particularly bad morning. "Your courage is admirable, and your will is strong. But this kingdom cannot lose the entirety of its royal line and continue to function. Your place is here, with your people. Your monarchs will return all the sooner if their party is small." The Wizard straightened, and though Kili looked resentful, he kept his protests at the level of a low grumble.

Billa looked up at Gandalf and wondered, not for the first time, how the Wizard always seemed to know exactly what to say. She caught his twinkling blue gaze and quickly looked away. Underneath the amusement of the moment, there was a much more serious, much darker look; it was the look of one who has seen the end and doesn't like what's coming. Once they were mounted, the huge front gates opened, nearly soundless except for a small, piercing squeak. Thorin winced and glanced at Fili. The Regent Under the Mountain nodded slightly. He would see to it. Even though it would probably be squeaking again by the time they returned, it comforted Thorin to know his nephews were here to oversee the kingdom in his absence. With luck, Dis would arrive before anything went too terribly awry.

The four ponies and the horse moved through the gates in a ragged line. At the base of the curved bridge, there were four more horses waiting for them. Three had riders, the fourth carried more packs. Thorin frowned.

"You didn't say we were going to have any more company," he growled, and the Wizard glanced at him with an expression that might have been surprise.

"You didn't think I was going to send you halfway across Middle-Earth with only two companions, did you?" Gandalf chuckled. "No, this sort of quest will take a great deal more help than your courageous friends can offer." As they got closer, Thorin's frown became a scowl. Two of the riders were clearly elves, mounted on elvish horses and wearing light, elvish armor. The third was a man, clad in a rough-looking green cloak that concealed anything else he may have been wearing.

"Are we going to Rivendell?" Billa asked, shooting a concerned glanced at their new companions. Gandalf shook his head.

"No, not to Rivendell. Though before our journey's end, you will wish we were." The three riders nodded to Gandalf as the party approached. "May I introduce Billa Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield, King and Queen Under the Mountain, and their companion Dwalin, son of Fundin." The man nodded, and the elves bowed. "This is Halfir, of the Rangers of the North." The man nodded again, and Billa frowned slightly as she looked at him. He seemed familiar, somehow. "Faithor of Rivendell, and Eldir of the Woodland Realm." The two elves smiled, though the one wearing Woodland green seemed a little less comfortable than his companion.

"The road south is being watched," murmured the Ranger, his strange grey eyes glimmering in the sunlight. Billa noted that they were the same color as fresh steel, and couldn't suppress a shiver as he glanced her way. "Dol Guldur is in shadow, and reaches out farther each passing day."

"We will put a stop to that, but not by the road." Gandalf turned his horse toward the Lake and nudged the animal forward. "You will follow Long Lake to its southern end, and from there you will-"

"You?" Billa looked up at him, and there was fear in her brown eyes. "You're not coming with us?" Gandalf gave her a kind smile.

"No. There are things I must prepare for you in order for this venture to succeed. Now, as I was saying, you will follow the River Celduín, and turn south at the meeting of Celduín and Carnen. From there you will cross the plains to Ered Lithui, the Ash Mountains. I will meet you there." Thorin's scowl was so deep it might become permanent.

"And you think I-"

"-will lead this expedition admirably." Gandalf interrupted him smoothly, still smiling. "Halfir will help you when you are in need, and Faithor and Eldir are both skilled in the art of healing, should the need arise." There was something about the way he spoke that told Billa he thought the need would arise. It didn't make her feel any better about this. With a final farewell and a warning glance at Thorin, the Wizard turned his steed away from them, and spurred the horse on.

Long after Gandalf had dwindled to a dark smudge in the distance, Billa continued to look over her shoulder. The Wizard was riding hard toward Mirkwood, and she wondered what it was he was preparing for them. Thorin, riding beside her, gazed at the Lake ahead.

"You don't think…" Billa hesitated, not sure she wanted to finish the question. "You don't think we'll actually be going into Mordor, do you?" Even though she'd had no history learning like what Thorin had, she knew that Mordor was a bad place, full of bad things. The idea of going in, and possibly never coming back out, was as terrifying as leaving her sons behind in the arms of their nursemaids. Thorin glanced at her, and as though he could see her heart aching in her chest, he reached across the gap between them to touch her knee.

"Your Wizard, may his beard grow ever longer," he was clearly trying to be polite, and the effort made Billa smile, "knows what he's doing. I can only pray he's not 'delayed' again."

"A Wizard is never late," said the elf in blue, Faithor, "nor is he early." He chuckled, and the sound was like water over stones. Billa smiled.

"He arrives precisely when he means to," she finished. The halfling knew the old man's excuses by heart, and it made her feel better to know that she wasn't alone. Their gazes met for a moment, and Billa knew she would like Faithor much more than Thorin would approve of. Of course, he disapproved of her liking the trees in Rivendell, never mind the folk that lived there. The elf in green remained silent, but there was a slight twitch to his lips that suggested he might be trying not to smile.

Thorin let out a low, growling sigh and turned forward again. "We can reach the tip of Long Lake by evening and set up camp there." Because Thorin's fallback was always giving orders. Billa smiled and rode beside him, thinking that perhaps this journey wouldn't be quite so unpleasant as her last one.


	8. Chapter 8

_Readers,_  
_I may have to take a short hiatus from RMT. *sadface* I've run out of buffer, and need time to write more. As I'm currently searching for a new home, this may not happen for a couple weeks. I'll be updating other stories, never you fear, but I wanted you to have fair warning before RMT takes a break. Thank you all for being so understanding. I hope you enjoy the chapter._

_Yours,  
Elle_

* * *

Camp was almost silent. Halfir slouched near the fire, watching the fish cook. The two elves had wandered off together and were standing near the water's edge, speaking quietly. Thorin and Dwalin were both sharpening their weapons, and the sound of stone on metal made Billa shiver periodically as she listened. This was nothing like the warm, cheerful camps they'd set up with the Company on the way from the Shire to the Lonely Mountain. And yet… the hobbit tilted her head and looked up at the sky as it darkened from blue-grey to deepest black. Tiny pinpricks of light blossomed in the darkness, and she smiled.

This was something she'd missed, living in the mountain, under a mile of rock and dirt, living by the light of lamps and torches. This was something she'd craved, but never had the heart to ask for. The light, the air, the smells and sounds of the world "under the sky," as the dwarves put it. Thorin loved his mountain so much… and she loved him too much to ask him to change. Though, if she was honest with herself, in a distant, smug part of her brain, she knew that if she asked him to live under the sky with her, or under the mountain without her, he would choose to be with her.

"Miss?" Halfir was studying her from across the fire, and Billa pulled her mind away from the stars to give him her attention.

"Yes?"

"Might I ask you a question?"

"You just did," answered the hobbit with a chuckle. "But I see no harm in one more." The Ranger seemed a little embarrassed by the exchange, and Billa wondered why one of the Big Folk would be so unnerved by a halfling.

"Why is it that you still introduce yourself as Baggins, even though you're married?" Of the various things she'd imagined he might ask, that wasn't one of them. The hobbit glanced at Thorin, who seemed to be ignoring them- but she knew better. He was listening.

"Among hobbits," Billa explained with a smile, "it's customary for a female to take her husband's family-name when she marries. Among dwarves, that's not the case. You see, with dwarves, names are earned, not given. Before Thorin was Oakenshield, he was Thorin Thrainson- what was important was the lineage, not the name. He earned the name Oakenshield. I haven't." When Halfir looked confused, she continued. "Dwarves don't have surnames. So even if he had wanted to, Thorin couldn't give me his name. By rights, I should introduce myself as Billa, daughter of Bungo, Queen Under the Mountain; but I like my name the way it is. So I kept it." There was short silence as Halfir processed this new information. He seemed more surprised than the situation warranted, and as Billa watched him curiously, he slowly nodded.

"Your folk are... more like Men than I'd guessed." Again, there was that embarrassed sort of expression on his face, and the halfling chuckled.

"There are a lot of things about hobbits that would surprise you." He gaze flicked over to Thorin, who quickly lowered his eyes to the blade in his hand, and she smirked. Her husband had made the mistake more than once of assuming he knew all there was to know about her kin.

"So... if you don't mind my asking," Halfir checked for her permission before continuing, and she inclined her curly head graciously, "why did you marry a dwarf?" The sudden silence was nearly deafening. Neither Dwalin nor Thorin made any pretense of being busy any longer. She could nearly hear them straining their ears to listen in on her answer. It was both flattering and somewhat unnerving. So, rather than give in to the nervousness that came of being the center of attention, Billa did what she had learned to as Queen- delay. She adjusted her skirt and smoothed her sleeves carefully before look Halfir in the eye and answering in a calm, unruffled tone.

"Because he asked." A heartbeat passed, then two, while tension radiated from the other side of the fire, where the dwarves were clearly deciding whether that was a good answer or an insulting one. "Of course, it helps that I love him." Billa smiled, feeling both triumphant and a bit guilty. The Ranger was looking anxious, and she stood with a chuckle, touching his shoulder as she passed him on her way to Thorin's side. "I married Thorin for the same reason anyone with the freedom to do so marries anyone. That he's a dwarf has nothing to do with it." Now beside her husband, she inserted herself under his arm, successfully diverting his tension into jealously guarding her rather than attacking the presumptuous human. Halfir's manner reminded her that, compared to herself or Thorin, the Ranger was relatively young, probably no older than his mid-thirties. It was a little strange to think this man was, by her standards, barely full-grown.

"If he asks another question like that, I'll personally see to it that he makes his bed at the bottom of the river." Thorin's low, rumbling growl could only be heard by Billa, and possibly Dwalin, though she doubted it. Billa smiled in spite of herself.

"Oh, don't hold it against him. He's still young, yet. He just doesn't know any better."

"He's old enough that he should."

"When Fili was his age, he was still shared a bed with his brother."

"That's different."

"Oh?" Billa raised an eyebrow at him, but the way her eyes crinkled happily at the edges made the argument into a joke instead. Thorin sighed, and Billa could hear resignation in the dwarf's silence. She chuckled and brought one of his broad, rough hands to her lips. "I love you."

"Yeah." Thorin reluctantly smiled down at her. Part of him wished she would take this quest a little more seriously. Even though they were only a day's journey from the Mountain, danger could be lurking in the darkness. Still, it was her confidence and lack of fear that allowed him to relax, as little sense as that made. "I know. I love you, too."


	9. Chapter 9

"And would you care to share your reasoning, O Mountain King?" Faithor's waspish tone wasn't helping matters at all.

"No." There were a great many more sarcastic or witty things he might have said, but Thorin was all too aware of Billa's disapproving gaze. Of all the people to disapprove of not sharing reasons, Billa wasn't the one he wanted to deal with. After all, they were on this quest because of her and that stupid Ring. The dwarf took a moment to breathe. It wasn't her fault. It was just... not her fault.

"Could it be because you don't have any?" The elf's voice was irritating for a number of reasons, and his obnoxious, superior tone wasn't convincing Thorin of the existence of any redeeming qualities to be found in elf-kind.

"Faithor," Billa warned, turning her disapproving look on the elf. The male met her gaze squarely, his narrow face down-turned and distrustful.

"I asked a simple question, Billa, and if he can't answer-"

"_Faithor_." Disapproval had turned into frustration. The elf seemed to realize that this battle wasn't one that was worth fighting. Not against the halfling. Billa continued in a quiet undertone that the elf could hear just fine, thank you very much. "I understand that you want to know what to expect. Thorin will tell us when he's good and ready, not a moment before. Pestering him about it will do no more good than scolding a tree for spreading its branches or ordering a mountain to kneel to the wind." Thorin frowned at her, and Billa shot him a glance that said 'we'll talk about this later.'

After a moment, the elf sighed, glancing at Thorin and shaking his head. Still, there was a fond twist to his lips as he nodded to Billa that gave the dwarf stomach pains. Thorin wrapped an arm around Billa's waist and pulled her closer to his body. He wasn't jealous, no. He was just... he didn't like it when an elf looked at his wife that way. Thorin nodded to himself. There was a pleased smile hiding in Billa's eyes when he looked at her, tugging at the corners of her mouth, even though she was trying to look serious, and he knew that the same thought had occurred to her.

"Thorin," she said gently, obviously exercising a great deal of patience with him. The dwarf growled out a quiet sigh as he watched Faithor move away, taking his stupid elvish grace with him. What kind of a man was comfortable with smelling like flowers all the time, anyway?

"Thorin." Her tone was a little sharper this time, and the Mountain King turned his head slightly to look at her again. Billa's smile had faded into an expression of tired frustration. "You're picking fights again."

"No I'm not." Thorin knew the retort was childish at best, but the stupid elf and his stupid questions were trying to steal his burglar, and there was no way he was going to take that laying down.

"It wouldn't hurt anyone if you just shared the plan with us. If maybe you told us why we can't just hire a barge to take us downriver. It would be faster, after all-"

"I said 'no,' and that's final. We're not taking any barge anywhere." Thorin scowled darkly at the silent river, flowing beside them like a neverending road. He heard Billa's frustrated snort and braced himself before she punched his shoulder. She was still just as bad at inflicting pain as she ever had been (his forearm twinged in protest, reminding him of the crescent-shaped (hobbit-mouth sized) scar under his bracer).

"Thorin Oakenshield," she began in a dangerous tone, pressing her shoulders back in just that way that told him she wasn't going to be pushed any further. Then, as suddenly as she'd stiffened and readied herself for a fight, the halfling sighed, relaxing again. "Nevermind. Just... nevermind. It's not worth it." Billa pushed his arm away and stood up, using his shoulder to lever herself to her feet.

It wasn't without a certain measure of dismay that Thorin watched her move away, not quite stalking, but definitely not walking calmly. It seemed like there was no way to really smooth the wrinkles between them. They were perpetually clashing like this. And yet... if they suddenly stopped fighting, stopped disagreeing, then what would be left between them but sappy gentle moments? And how would he ever appreciate those moments if there was nothing against which to compare them?

_Life lived in luxury and safety is boring, Thorin. I wouldn't have said that a few years ago, but when I was the one living there, I didn't know any better._ Billa was the one that had told him that. Of course, at the time, she'd been scolding him for fussing about the safety of their second child before he'd even been born. Little Fior had been quite a surprise to Thorin, though not to Billa, apparently. Dwarf-children simply weren't born that close together. But, as Billa reminded him often, she wasn't a dwarf.

With a sigh, he leaned forward to poke at the fire, keeping his eyes on his burglar as she took a seat beside Eldir. Elves. What was it about Billa and elves? She'd had the audacity to actually _invite_ Thranduil to their wedding. That had been bad enough, but then the blasted elf had actually come. They were all so superior and snooty, so absolutely convinced of their own godly status that they refused any sort of normal, mortal interraction. He'd never seen an elf laugh or lose his temper.

As though to prove him wrong, a chuckle like flowing water drifted across the camp. Eldir's stern expression had broken into a smile and he was suffering the halfling as she prodded his side, a teasing tilt to her head. She was speaking, but too low for Thorin to make out what it was. Eldir seemed to appreciate it, though, and he chuckled again, batting her hand away. The dwarf felt a surge of helpless frustration. What right did that elf have to be flirting with his burglar? More importantly, what right did his burglar have to be flirting with an elf? He had half a mind to go over there and remind Billa that she was a married hobbit when she turned slightly and looked over her shoulder. She caught his gaze, flashing him an impish smile, and stuck her tongue out at him, exactly as though she were a half-grown dwarrow. Thorin's frustration ebbed, leaving him feeling tired and drained. Why did she do this to him?

"If I could ask," said a polite, non-elvish voice behind him, "why is it we don't travel by water?" Halfir was watching him with curious grey eyes, and Thorin was beginning to suspect that this Ranger had a real gift for asking awkward questions. However, lacking the drive to be ambiguous, the dwarf settled for delivering a grouchy answer instead.

"If you want to make yourself and your horse into a target in the middle of the river, then be my guest. I have no intention of making our company such as long as we have the strength and means to travel in relative safety." With a snort, Thorin stood and moved away from the fire to join Dwalin, who was on lookout duty. Three days. Had it really only been three days? When he sat down heavily beside his old friend, Dwalin spared him only a brief glance.

"Look like you're sittin' on hot coals," the brawny warrior grunted, his gaze sweeping along the horizon.

"Oh, shut up." Thorin wasn't sure whether he wanted to talk or just sit in silence. Someone else might have been able to tell him that his choice had already been made. Dwalin snorted.

"Hey, not my fault you got issues. It's the burglar again, isn't it?" The dwarf's shrewd perception irritated Thorin, but he would prefer to think his friend was simply very perceptive, rather than entertaining the notion that he was simply that predictable.

"Watch your tone," Thorin grumped, rather than addressing the problem directly. "She's your queen, not just-"

"Not just a burglar. I know." Dwalin stretched and aimed a sidelong look at his monarch and long-time friend. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. "So what's she done this time?"

Thorin had no intention of telling Dwalin what was actually bothering him. He hesitated for a long moment. Long enough to hear the soft, nearly-silent padding of hobbit feet.

"Thorin?"

Her voice was quiet. Maybe even repentent. Dwalin shot him a look, the pushed himself to his feet.

"Gonna walk my rounds." Dwalin's boots clomped off into the growning darkness as Billa silently took her place beside her husband. The silence between them wasn't as comfortable as the quiet between himself and Dwalin.

"I'm... I'm sorry." The apology sounded slightly reluctant, as though she wasn't altogether convinced that she had something to apologize for. Thorin teetered between acceptance and frustration.

"Oh?"

"I... don't want..." she seemed to be grasping for words, "you to be angry with me. It was just..." the halfling trailed off, gesturing vaguely with one hand. Thorin looked at her, and sighed after a moment.

"You really like getting under my skin," he pointed out. "That stunt with the elves-"

"Yeah, I know." Billa lowered her head. "I know. It was stupid. But... Eldir and Faithor are our companions. Isn't it... I don't know, isn't it good that I'm trying to get along with them?"

"There's a difference between getting along with someone and using your feminine wiles to beguile them into-"

"_Beguile_ them?" Billa sounded nearly angry with the suggestion. "Oh, so now I'm beguiling them? It couldn't possibly be that I'm just being friendly, instead of refusing to acknowldged that they might actually be real people, despite being taller and prettier than I am!"

"Real...?" Thorin was torn between bafflement and confusion. "What are you-?"

"Oh, come on, Thorin. You're the most biased, racist person I've ever met, with the possible exception of Dwalin."

"Biased? Racist?" Thorin felt an intense combination of righteous anger and injured pride filling his chest. He honestly couldn't think of a thing to say, and stared at her, trying to force his expression back into neutrality. Stoic, that's what he needed to be.

Billa paused, seeming somehow surprised. A look of actual regret crossed her face now, but Thorin wasn't sure he was ready to see it.

"You know what I mean. It doesn't matter who the elf is or what they've done- the fact that they're elvish is enough reason for you to treat them as inferior and disregard their opinions completely." But her tone wasn't as aggressive as it had been. Thorin let his gaze sweep down over her frame. Her shoulders were pressed back, her chin tilted up. She was convinced she was right.

"Dwarves," he said slowly, anger burning like coals in his belly, "do not forgive easily. The elves were our allies, Billa, and they turned their backs on us. Thousands of my kin died that day, because the elves would not help us."

"But-"

"And afterward, when were wandered, homeless in the wilds, while hundreds more of my folk died of illness and starvation- the elves never offered to take us in. They failed to reach out to us, and for that reason, there are fewer of us now than ever there were before."

"But why should every elf from every far-flung valley of Middle-Earth suffer your wrath, because of the decisions of a single elf-lord?" Billa interjected, sounding less angry now. "Why, Thorin? Why do you hate all of them, when Thranduil was the only one that wronged you?" Thorin shoved himself to his feet, tension clawing its way up his back. He loomed over the halfling as she got up to follow him, feeling as though she'd just smacked him.

"If you must ask," he hissed softly, "then you know nothing of the suffering of my people." Turning his back on her, he stalked away. No. He wouldn't bear this. There were many other things he would tolerate from his wife, but this wasn't one of them. Billa, of all people, ought to have known better. If she followed him, he took no notice.


End file.
